after
by rurounibug
Summary: What's left at the end.


this is emphasis.

--oo--

after

It was over now. All over. The battles, the fighting, the struggle. All over. It had happened so fast, in the end, and the downward ride of this emotional rollercoaster felt like nothing so much as disappointment. The fear and the anger and the mere effort of survival had brought them and bound them together. And now there was little more to face than a ravaged world, strangely empty without their enemy.

Their enemy. A spawn of--of what? Of that damned woman, Lucrecia? Or of whatever the hell it was that Jenova was supposed to be? Maybe some semi-human combination of the two. What did it matter now? He was gone, and all that was left of him was this big hole in the ground, this crater; proof that the last few month had been more than a dream; more than a vivid hallucination. Odd, how fast those nightmarish days seemed to be fading, even now. As if they were memories from years ago, not days.

Cid grumbled. Cid kicked at rocks as stomped around the rocky perimeter, wary of the smoking stone, of the loose rubble. He'd meant this battle to be his swan song, a grand finale. It was a little confusing to have survived it. He hadn't expected to be faced with the prospect of figuring out what to do next.

It could wait, though, he thought. It could wait at least a few days. There was really no goddamn reason why his brain had to be trying to mull this over now. Not when the others were still sprawled on their backs, catching their breath and wondering that they still had breath to catch. Not when Yuffie had yet to break into an inevitable victory celebration. Really, he thought, he could at least wait until the first whoop had sounded.

Down in the crater, through the mist, a form moved. Graceful, slow, and Cid came to a grumbling, cursing halt as he paused to peer down, squinting, his gut tightening at the prospect of further battle, at the prospect of Sephiroth having survived all that and coming back for more. Had he really, minutes ago, been mourning this new peace? Fuck.

But the wind shifted then and cleared the smoke and steam and dust enough for him to get a good look. A good enough look, at least, for him to identify who it was moving around down there.

"Hey! Vin!"

No reply, but then he hadn't really been expecting one. Unfazed, he made his way down to the depths of the crater, slipping and sliding on loose rubble all the way, cursing every time he nearly fell or twisted something. "Shit. Just what I need. To die tripping in a pot hole. God. I'm too fucking old for this."

Vincent was clearer now, a decidedly dark shade in the midst of all that smoke. No longer moving, but on the ground. The blurry shape of his head below Cid's eye level instead of above. Cid frowned, called, "Vin? That's you right? Are you okay?"

"It's me." Enough of a reply. Cid stormed forward, ignoring the curling, dancing tendrils of whatever the hell it was rising out of the ground all around them, "Well, hell. You scared the hell out of me!! What are you doing down here anyway? You better not be--Oh." Cid stumbled to a halt, eyes wide, breathed, "My god." And fell silent.

Sephiroth's coat was almost gone, torn apart into black tatters that clung stubbornly to the straps and metalwork of his shoulder guards and equipment. The rest of him, though, looked nearly unscathed. Bruised and scraped, but whole. His hair a tangled mess across the rocks and dirt and gravel, his hands bloodied, but intact, loosely curled, one on the stone by his side.

And the wing, that damn strange, inhuman wing of his, folded and limp, spread across the stone and rubble like a crumpled downy blanket. Snowy white, and unharmed, except for the stray feathers dancing slowly on the same currents that blew the smoke about. His face, in death, was relaxed, calm. Like a child asleep at long, long last.

"Vin?" Nothing. Vincent reached out a hand and rested it on Sephiroth's hair, gently smoothing out the tangles he could reach until soft, smooth bangs again framed Sephiroth's face. He said nothing.

Cid tried to say nothing. Remained silent for an admirably long while until it simply could not be borne any longer, then spit out, "Vincent, are you okay? Can we get the fuck out of here?"

"Go." Vincent didn't turn to face him; one hand stayed holding their fallen foe's, the other kept slowly brushing his hair.

Cid blinked, started to curse him out, and caught himself. "Did you come down here to look for him? What the fuck is the matter with--"

"Hojo did this." Vincent said, not really answering either question, but telling Cid all he needed to know. Gently, almost reverently, Vincent pulled Sephiroth's body toward him, cradling his shoulders, still holding his hand. "Destroyed him like he did me."

"Yeah? Well, Hojo screwed over a whole hell of a lot of people, and not all of them didn't deserve it. He, for one," Cid said, nodding at the body Vincent held, "was gonna kill us all. Was going to destroy everything and everybody. "

"No. Jenova was."

"Okay. Jenova was, if it makes you feel better. Can we-- Vin?"

"He was her son." He said, "And she asked me to kill him."

"Maybe. Maybe it was just you going a little crazy in that waterfall. Look at Cloud. He's screwed up three ways from Sunday, doesn't mean all his voices are telling the truth."

"How could Hojo do this to his own child?" Vincent sighed, holding the limp body to him, clumsily folding the wings around the still form. "Lucrecia's child. He could have been mine." He rose slowly, dark hair blowing messily in the swirling winds, coat flapping slightly, his metal arm glinting dully against the white of those abominable wings. "He should have been my son."


End file.
